


Tumblr Drabbles; Transformers Edition

by artoni



Category: Transformers
Genre: Drabbles, Gore, M/M, NSFW, Other, Trauma, Vomit, creepers being creepy, crosshairs being a bullshitting bastard, dubcon, h/c, implied but not necessarily explicit things, noncon, shortfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2115507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artoni/pseuds/artoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TL;DR - misc short drabbles from Tumblr that weren't long enough to merit their own standalong fic posts (IMHO). Ratings/characters/etc at the beginning of each 'chapter'.</p><p>I have to put Vos's name in here because Reasons. Don't ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hard to Swallow [NSFW; OVERLORD, FORT MAX, RUNG]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overlord, Fortress Maximus, Rung, OC/NPC death.
> 
> H/C, flashback/therapy.
> 
> Contains gore, forcefeeding, vomit, Overlord being an asshole but only in flashbacks. Max is safe now. He's all right. It'll be okay. It's over.

_"Optics open, Maximus. Look at me."_  
  
He didn't want to look, didn't want to see- feebly, the mech gurgled a sound not quite a protest, not quite a whine even as his vision flickered. It didn't matter what he wanted, hadn't for years and wouldn't ever- but at this point obedience had been so ingrained that even if his spark or processor objected, his chassis submitted at whatever the cost.  
  
In this case, the cost was the sight of what had once been another mech. A guard of the prison, named Barrel; Fort Max had always considered him one of the softer ones, perhaps not quite fit for a place like Garrus, but he did his job and did it well and so he'd been set to watch some of the more minor prisoners, the ones for whom release wasn't so far in the future.  
  
Max remembered Barrel disappearing over a sea of those prisoners, turned brutal madmechs, just before Maximus himself had been overwhelmed. It had been the last he had seen of him, but now- now he had a new last image, of Barrel screaming in agony as he was torn apart because of Max's own stubbornness, the same that had kept him from calling a retreat, the same that had damned them all as he struggled to make it all not in vain and to keep the very last defences...  
  
He hadn't deserved this. None of them had. Fortress Maximus, no longer able to look away, watched with a numb abhorrence as his tormenter raised a hand to his mouth and calmly licked off a bit of the energon.  
  
"When was the last time I fed you?" he asked suddenly, and Max had to mute another sound as Overlord tapped his chin, then smiled. "Why, I do believe it's been some time, but I suppose your old friend won't need his ration anymore, will he."  
  
Secured to the table by restraints that he couldn't have broken even weren't he so weak, the former warden could do nothing but try not to purge as Overlord picked up the decapitated helm, holding it like some sort of grotesque goblet as he moved back over to Maximus and forced his mouth open, all the while reminding him to keep his optics online and  
  
"look at me, Maximus, focus on me, cycle, you're safe, you're-"  
  
 _can't get away, can't do anything, why couldn't it have been him instead, why_  
  
" **MAX**!"  
  
He couldn't stop himself; as before, his body simply reacted, but this time it was not to _obey_. Only the sudden _twisting_ of his fuel pump gave him warning, and he twisted on the couch with a cough, then a gag, and then  
  
Well, then he had just enough left of his processor to feel bad for the mess.  
  
When his tanks had finally emptied themselves, he took some long seconds just holding himself there, fans on high as they tried to settle his systems. Their sound seemed abnormally loud, or maybe that was just him; either way, he barely noticed the tiny hand rubbing small circles on his shoulder. At least until its owner spoke, almost too softly to be heard.  
  
"Can I get you anything?"  
  
"...rag."  
  
The hand left, accompanied by some soft noise. It was only a moment before it came back, this time holding a cloth just within his view. Max took it, nodding a wordless gratitude as he wiped his face, optics dimming briefly.  
  
That had been too real. And a good example of why, however helpful these sessions were or weren't, he had been utterly against them at first.  
  
But for however weak and shaky he felt, at least he also felt _marginally_ better.  
  
Next to him, Rung patiently waited for him to recover. Max never knew what the small mech saw or what signs he looked for, but he seemed to understand that sometimes all Max really needed was just a bit of _time_. Time to pull himself together, or at least the pieces close enough so that when he gave a great shuddering vent, he at least /felt/ like a mech.  
  
Sort of.  
  
"Do you want to call it for the day?" Rung asked, seemingly unbothered by the half-processed energon staining his floor. Perhaps he wasn't; he had, after all, seen worse. Been through worse.  
  
And Max...Max gave another heavy vent, rubbing his face as he rolled back on to the couch, fully. "Mmngh.  Probably."  
  
"There's nothing wrong with taking a break," came the gentle reminder. Always gentle. Never pushing. And the question had been phrased deliberately; Rung's questions were almost always made to prompt affirmations, rather than negatives. The fact hadn't escaped Fortress, who was grimacing at this point.  
  
No, there wasn't anything wrong with it. And pit knew that it was hardly the worst memory of that place, only the one triggered by Rung's latest round of questions. Of his fellow guards...  
  
"I just wish I could have done more," he didn't-quite-whisper. "I know I couldn't have, I was as helpless as they were for pit's sake, but I can't help thinking..."  
  
 _Overlord's hand held his mouth shut until he'd swallowed everything he could. What little had spilled, he wiped with his fingers, practically caressing Maximus' lips until his grip eased just enough for him to probe them inside so that they could be cleaned._  
  
"How is it," the Decepticon mused, "that you can be both the picture of obedience, but still such a **defiant** little mech?"


	2. Goodnight, Luna [SFW, FORTRESS MAXIMUS, RED ALERT]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fortress Maximus, Red Alert.
> 
> Nightly rituals.

The memories weren't as vivid now. 

They weren't _gone_ by any means, but their hold on him has slackened, some. It may have been the time he spent in the brig, the confinement a warped sort of blessing as there had been no tormentor to step in and reinforce his fears. It may have been the chance to strike back _at_ his tormentor, and the fragment of revenge he'd managed to obtain. Maybe it was the necessity of being a soldier once more, taking responsibility for the _Lost Light_ with its command crew gone as the Legislators invaded.  
  
Maybe it was the fact that Luna 1 was, quite literally, a whole new world to him. There was little, if _anything_ , to remind him of the past three years. Or years before that; after being stationed at Garrus-9 for so long, being in a moonbase was quite...well. Different.  
  
It wasn't an unpleasant sort of different. There was a lot to do, starting with figuring out the mess Tyrest had made of his own accord. Figuring out what was the result of Tyrest's madness would take up his time for years. Which, all told, was fine with Fortress Maximus. He was...tired.  
  
Sure, he'd faced Overlord and, in the end, had been the one to live. But it all still weighed down upon him, and made him very, very glad that it was all over.  
  
Or as over as it could be, when there were still nights he woke from recharge mid-howl.  
  
It was these nights that Red Alert proved a surprisingly welcome presence.  
  
The Security Director had stormed in to his room the first night armed and ready, convinced that they were under attack. Max's feeble protests that he had just been having a nightmare didn't deter him in the slightest; not until the ex-warden had followed him twice around the base vainly trying to reassure him had Red Alert finally calmed down. By the time Fort Max had gotten back to his own room, he was far too wired to get back in to recharge; he gave up and started some work back on the Accord and the next thing he knew, he woke up with his face on the desk.  
  
(To be fair, it wasn't _all_ tedious. He'd just chosen a particular part for that particular reason.)  
  
The next time, Red Alert had done the same thing, and Maximus had only gone around once before throwing his hands up in the air and giving up to find some energon. The third time...  
  
The third time he hadn't been screaming, but Red Alert came in anyway, as if alerted by some silent alarm. Fort Max would later learn that Red Alert had a _camera_ , of all things, installed in his room...  
  
...but rather than being annoyed with it, Max found himself...relieved, oddly enough. Or at least not in the slightest bit against it. He didn't understand why until the eighth time he'd accompanied Red Alert on what he'd nicknamed a 'nightly patrol' that he had some inkling why.  
  
He was grateful without words that it never came _to_ words, _to_ a spoken admission, and as the nightmares happened less and less often...  
  
By then, the patrols had become a sort of weekly ritual, and he was loathe to give them up. Thankfully, Red Alert hardly needed encouragement to continue them, and was not at all opposed to the company.


	3. Distractions [BORDERLINE NSFW, CROSSHAIRS, LOCKDOWN]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught aboard Lockdown's ship, Crosshairs pretty much just makes it up as he goes.
> 
> Flirting, nothing explicit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by [this](http://mamonna.tumblr.com/post/90775764715/thebunsart-you-are-not-alone)

"See, I'm only here 'cause I 'ad a gun to my head. I could care less if you got off this dirtball. Hell, Prime could probably use a change of venue. Been here too long, y'know?"

When Lockdown came across the green mech in his ship, he'd fully expected to simply shoot him and be done with it. Instead, he was finding himself with said mech practically crawling in to his lap; his drawn weapon was held easily at his side, present if necessary but for the moment little more than simple weight.  
  
The bounty hunter wasn't sure whether or not to approve. Of that, the squirming weight on his frame, or the sneer-smile he was currently being treated to.

"All I'm sayin'," the mech drawled as Lockdown wrapped a hand around him, a motion that the green and black plating seemed quite happy to wriggle in to, "is that  _maybe_ you should sample some've the other goods before you go."


	4. Improvisation [BORDERLINE NSFW, CROSSHAIRS, LOCKDOWN]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crosshairs continues to make it up as he goes, and is not sure he's still okay with this all told.
> 
> Implied(?) dubcon, nothing explicit. Probably could classify this as fully consensual, but the situation is somewhat _eeh_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [mamonna](http://mamonna.tumblr.com/post/93129511785/every-time-someone-makes-lockdown-crosshairs-art)

Step one; seduce the bounty hunter. Check.

Step two...well, he hadn't quite made up step two yet. Most ofthis was thinking on his feet, something he was pretty good at all told, but as Lockdown laid him back on the table he couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension.

"Y'know," he drawled as the other spread his legs open,stepping between, "you've got a bit of a rep about you."  
  
"Do I, now," drawled back the other, glancing up at him briefly. He still hadn't removed his visor-mask, something which distantly annoyed Corsshairs were it not for the fact that he knew damn well that visor could turn in to a long-range sniper rifle.

He'd take the visor. And the hands rubbing the inside plating of his legs, for that matter, where a number of sensitive ports lay hidden.

"You do," Crosshairs affirmed, trying not to think about just how Lockdown knew where to go. (Maybe it was his HUD). "Somethin' about taking trophies. Can't help but wonder if that applies to this sort of thing, too, eh?" He risked a roguish grin, the sort that always made Drift roll his optics but here seemed quite appropriate with how he was literally flirting with danger.

Beneath him, between him, Lockdown chuckled, giving him a brief, challenging squeeze. "Second thoughts?" he questioned, rubbing his thumbs in slow, meaningful circles. The sort that pressed armor down on to ports and sent promises of far, far more. _  
_

The sort that Crosshairs didn't hesitate to open up for. "Safeword's 'Optimus'," he challenged right back, earning a short bark of a laugh before the bounty hunter went to work.


	5. Lost Chances [SFW, RATCHET, SHOCKWAVE]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet muses on the past.
> 
> Schmoopy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the impromptu Botcon 'Thouarttempura' challenge.

  
It was interesting, catching the after action report. Not the report itself- frag no, the entire past joor had been more than interesting enough, thank you, it would be nice to have some actual calm for a period of time instead of things being complicated enough to put a Rhonix Cube to shame.

No, what was interesting was hearing the specifics, and not only that hearing the fate of a specific mech and the way it seemed as though something inside of him decided that moment was a perfect moment to twist just so and-

Ratchet had thrown up his hands, grousing loudly as he'd stalked off, but it'd been a front more than anything else. Something to cover the sudden ache and threatening weakness within, and frankly he was griping at himself just as much as the situation in general.

To be fair, he'd kept this particular detail close to spark. Ever since he'd caught sight of the violet mech all those years ago, bright face turned in to a single baleful optic and ever-reassuring voice an emotionless, monotone droning.

He'd dealt with it then. Hadn't accepted, but acknowledged the change and dealt with it. Funny how now, now after all these millions of years, now these memories bubbled to the surface and threatened to pull him under and swallow with the knowledge that the Senator had returned, however briefly, to himself.

And no matter how much he derided himself for something so stupid, Ratchet couldn't let go of the fact that he'd never been able to say 'goodbye'. 


	6. Fire and Ice [SFW, VECTOR PRIME, MEGATRONUS PRIME/THE FALLEN]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The differences are clear.
> 
> Semi-implied post coital cuddling.

Megatronus was warm.

Vector wouldn't have said it out loud, but he had always liked that about his brother. He was warm, and even at his coldest, even at his most terrifying, when facing down the legions of the Unmaker or turning his anger upon his fellows...it was impossible not to notice that warmth. Sometimes it was overwhelming, a heat that threatened to suffocate...

Other times, such as now - Vector sprawled on top of the dark armor, systems humming as they slowed from their earlier...well, perhaps not _stress_ , but their earlier exhileration. Underneath him, the tank's engine made a sound not unlike a purr, content and satisfied as Megatronus ran a hand against Vector's sides.

Vector dimmed his optics and smiled. These moments were rare and precious, and while he was in them, they felt like a pleasant eternity.

\----

The Fallen was cold.

For all he burned, for all his seams spat smoke and flame - it was deception. All of it. Vector Prime hated it all, hated the mockery that stood in place of his brother, hated how much it was different and yet still _reminded_ him of ages past-

But no.

This heat was the sort that burned so much, it felt as terrible as ice. It numbed all sensors, it numbed all processors, and when it left it left agony and _pain_ in its wake...

Vector shifted his grip on his blade, staring at that masked face that once made him feel so _safe_ , so _at ease_ , and wonders how many more eternities he will have to bear it transforming in to ice.


	7. Call to Arms [SFW, FORTRESS MAXIMUS, DRIFT, RUNG]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fortress Maximus realizes what's at stake- and what can be gained.
> 
> Contains canon inaccuracy because I forgot Drift was kind of indisposed when I originally wrote this.

For a moment, Fortress Maximus heard nothing. Saw nothing. Drift and Rung  _were_ nothing, nothing compared to the sudden flash of memory within his processor.

Overwhelming. Consuming.  _Terror, hatred, rage, despair-_

_Overlord is here_.

Rung was saying something and Drift was moving, unlocking the cell. But all Max could think about were those three years of hell.

And _then_ he became aware of the two mechs looking at him, and the faint sounds of combat from only so far away. He blinked once, then shook his head, standing, getting to his feet.

Rung turned to Drift. "I'm not sure that this is-"  
  
"It's the best chance we have," Drift answered grimly, turning to face Maximus. "Besides. This may be your only chance for vengeance."

Vengeance.

_Vengeance._

Something seemed to break inside of Fortress Maximus, an icy coldness washing over him. But it was better than the _emptiness_ he'd felt for far longer, and what was more, it was solidifying in to something else, a clearheaded directive of knowing what had to be done.

What _he_ had to do.

Without another word he pushed past Rung and Drift, ignoring the protests of the former as he took a step, then another, then broke out in to a run.

_Terror, hatred, rage, despair._

All of these fueled the fire within as he swore to himself, this time,  _this_ time would be different.

Because one way or another it was all going to end.


	8. Relics [SFW, CYCLONUS]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post MTMTE #12.
> 
> Cyclonus reflects on his reaction to Tailgate's 'offering'.

"I think you're pathetic."

And with that, Cyclonus pushed himself up off the berth, past Tailgate- and began to walk away.

Tailgate was a number of other things he hadn't mentioned - all, apparently, leading back to when Cyclonus had bothered picking him up off the ground when no one else had. Or perhaps before, to their acquaintance (you couldn't really call it a friendship) before the launch of the Ark. Because they were from the same era, relics of the past, Tailgate had apparently thought that they were worth some sort of stupid ritual-

Relics, indeed. Dusty, lost things, without any meaning in this day and age. Things had  _changed_ , or, more accurately, _Cyclonus_ had - while the golden age was yesterday to Tailgate, Cyclonus had lived every day of those six million years, cut off from the world and unable to do  _anything_ to save it as it met its slow decline.

Tailgate was a memory of what he once was, and would no longer be. He was, for all intents and purposes,  _innocence_. Untarnished metal, practically pure and new.

Annoying was too small and too simple a word.

He could hear some coming from the side, where Rewind- ah. Rewind had survived the blast. It was good to know that he hadn't lunged in front of him (what was he doing down there? a relic in his own right, a civilian at the least, he wasn't /built/ for those situations) for nothing, but Rewind...

Even just looking at him and Chromedome, the way they were chatting up, made it clear that they were more than just simple friends. Rewind was  _worth_ recovering, and Cyclonus knew very well that if he had passed in that explosion, then no one would have mourned him. For all that he was part of the crew, he was  _nothing_ to them- a Decepticon, at _most_. At worst...someone taking up space, someone taking up energon, and Whirl of all mechs was probably the only one who gave him a second thought.

Frankly, Cyclonus would have preferred he didn't. Every iota of attention Whirl gave him would make it that much difficult to kill him. Not that he was planning on it being easy (it wouldn't be nearly as rewarding if Whirl didn't put up  _some_ kind of a fight), but the fact remained...

Whirl, who he could just see walking out of the medbay.

Not too far from the door he walked through, a number of bottles with energon - no, a  _specific_ kind of energon, he recognized that - and, next to that, Chromedome and Rewind.

Close friends, indeed. If Rewind had passed, Chromedome would never had stopped mourning, and more likely than not would have blamed him for the passing. Which hadn't been the reason why he had shielded the smaller mech, but Cyclonus hardly expected it to be mentioned again.  
  
Perhaps it was best that he _did_ just stay a relic, and forgotten by the crew. Maybe, eventually, there would be a stop where he could just...

_"It's just a ritual."_

Behind him, the sound of tinkling glass.  _Tnk_ by  _tnk_ , one at a time, almost imperceptible over the sound of Rewind and Chromedome. 

Even worthless, worth  _something_ to _someone_.

Truly pathetic. Though...perhaps Cyclonus was a little bit, too, when he turned back and, without a word, began to help.


	9. Burn [SFW; CLIFFJUMPER, SGPRIME]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SGPrime is a creeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [Chibi](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7s6o9ghiY1qj2boi.jpg)'s art. [And RP.]

The world is burning.

The assault was swift and savage, the Decepticons unprepared for the sudden onslaught. They'd had to retreat from their position, and somehow through it all, Cliffjumper had fallen behind, gotten cut off from the others-

-and the next thing he'd known, he was face to face with Optimus Prime.

The hand around his neck keeps him from shouting. The pressure on his vocalizer keeps it from doing much more than gurgling, as well as slows the energon to his processor. Cliffjumper gurgles, struggling against the larger form, trying to reach for his dropped weapon as he world starts to go black...

...and then the pressure is eased. Just a bit, just enough to leave him gasping as Optimus chuckles above him, stroking his face in a warped affection. Cliffjumper manages a curse, which only makes Optimus /laugh/, pressing a finger to his lips.

"Save your strength," he rumbles. "You'll /need/ it."


End file.
